


From On High

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: 2012 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "tree-topper", Christmas fic, Crack, M/M, angst (resolved), outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: Jim and Blair's relationship as seen through the eyes of a seasonal observer.





	From On High

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "tree-topper"

_1996_

Her first year in the new place, the Tree is very small. "A surprise," He says to her. And, "When Jim gets here, try to charm the socks off him, okay? We didn't actually discuss this."

He runs his hands over her wings — such gentle hands — and straightens her halo, and her glitter feels as sparkling-new as if it were her very first Christmas, so many years, so many households ago.

She doesn't know who "Jim" is, but the tall human (unfairly tall, her Tree is so very short this year) who arrives later has only a flickering trace of Christmas Spirit, and she does her best to brighten his Christmas Season.

It doesn't take long, though, for her to see that brightening up Christmas for "Jim" isn't up to her at all, that _He,_ her "Blair," was born to brighten things up for "Jim". Even if her Tree is short this year — and it is, it's so _very_ short — she has more than enough perspective from On High to see that much.

_1999_

She loves looking down on Them, her two, as they sit together on the couch, nearly as tangled together as Lights so often manage to get.

Not _Their_ Lights, of course. Jim (so firm, and yet so careful) allows no tangling whatsoever of Cords or Garlands or Ornament Hangers.

But her Blair is allowed to tangle with her Jim (now, after so long, _too_ long), and she feels her wings shiver in an updraft of happiness as laughter and quiet voices, quiet sounds drift up to her.

Last Christmas, They were so very far apart she would have wept if she could, for Them to have gone from such unexampled, deep friendship to seeming to be as irreparably broken as the painted glass Ball her Blair had dropped when He tried to hang it on an upper branch of the Tree.

She could have told Him that you can't hang Ornaments wisely when your hands are shaking with anger.

She'd felt like shaking herself, when her Blair opened her box this year, shaking from worry and the grief-filled _wrongness_ of last year, with its arguments and its silences, each worse than the other. But her Jim had been there too as the lid rose from her box, had wrapped his arms around her Blair from behind, tilted his head down to nuzzle her Blair's neck, and she hadn't needed to be atop any Tree at all to see.

Now she's high, so very high (the Trees get taller every year) and her Blair and her Jim are _together,_ and she quivers her wings again with happiness.

Saint Nick must be watching too, because the faintest sparkle of gold from her wings swirls down through the air and away from the tree, over to the couch and disappears into Them, a blessing, and she knows — she _knows_ — that all Their days from now on will be merry and bright and _together._

She _knows._


End file.
